


The Akum

by orphan_account



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 13:59:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ladybug crashes the 20th Annual Fashion awards after chasing a mysterious dark shape across the rooftops of Paris. Meanwhile, inside, Adrien prepares to be crowned International Model of the Year. Both are oblivious to what they're really up against, and how the next hour will change everything.





	The Akum

Long, thin fingers uncurled and gold rings of varying shapes, along with one silver ring, winked in the soft light. The abalone sleeves of his tuxedo jacket shimmered, glittering like marbled rivers of sapphire and amethyst. Somehow both structured and silky. Too precious to be draped over his awkward too-hot skin.

The limousine’s padded door separated him from the chaos outside. Just beyond the car, reporters and photographers darted between standing and kneeling, meerkating around for the perfect angle. Protected behind a thick layer of tinted glass, the noise of their cameras were muffled. It reminded Adrien of sticking his head underwater. If he closed his eyes he could almost drown them out completely.

Nerves stung his throat. He swallowed, not used to the feeling. At least, not over this. Cameras and red carpets had always just been a part of life. No big deal. But this on the other hand… this red carpet was different.

A dark shape eclipsed Adrien’s window. The gorilla’s broad shoulders served the dual purpose of hiding Adrien and guarding his door.

When Adrien made no move to leave, the driver cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Agreste? We’re arrived.”

Right. He should go. This was nothing he couldn’t handle. Nothing new. Man… His bow-tie was really tight.

“If I may, sir… the longer you sit in here, the more people will think you’re hiding.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Adrien shot breathlessly.

His driver fell silent.

Adrien winced. “I’m sorry. Just… Give me a moment.”

Nestled deep in his oil slick jacket, somewhere between his thudding heart and the acceptance speech folded and tucked in his breast pocket, Plagg shifted. Adrien felt the light presses of two tiny paws kneading against him a few times, before stilling. Sleeping. All this, and Plagg was sleeping. Really, it shouldn’t be surprising, considering Plagg spent most of his time sleeping, but still.

Adrien laughed quietly in disbelief. Maybe a year ago he would have been offended, but he had learned not to expect any coddling from his kwami. He wondered if Ladybug’s was the same. Somehow he doubted it. How’d he get stuck with the old-man kwami? But the constant purr that buzzed against his chest was comforting in it’s own Plagg-y way. It was the best he was gonna get. Adrien ducked his head and smiled to himself.

“…Mr. Agreste?”

“Adrien,” he corrected.

Confused, his driver said, “Sir? Should I pull back around?”

Channeling some of his kwami’s lack of concern, Adrien sucked in a breath, reopened his eyes, and rapped his knuckles against the window three times.

At the signal, his bodyguard used one hand to pop open the door while simultaneously using the other to push back the swell of fly-like reporters. Sound flooded into the car; the deep bass of hip-hop music emanating from the building’s entrance, and the shouting and rattlesnake clatter of camera shutters.

Adrien carefully rearranged his body, nudging everything back into place, aligning his lips into a well-photographed smile. Boyish, easy. Wary of drawing any connection to Chat Noir, Adrien twisted his Miraculous so the face pressed into his palm. As he poked one black velvet smoking slipper out of the limousine, his driver said, “Good luck.”

 

.

 

Alya’s head appeared in the trapdoor leading into Marinette’s bedroom. Her eyes were wild, her hair wilder. “Mari! _Mari!_ Your boyfriend’s arrived. He’s really hot. Get in here. Quick!”

Not her boyfriend. Adrien Agreste was not Marinette’s boyfriend. Nevertheless Alya had grown fond of referring to him as such. In the beginning Alya must have found it entertaining, just how flustered she got. Now it was habit.

Balancing a bowl of popcorn, Marinette’s socked feet padded up the wooden staircase. Her pink onesie didn’t offer her the best traction. A fact she learned as slipped out from underneath her on the last step, sending her tripping, falling—

Alya grabbed her by the arm before the popcorn was lost. She gave her a deadpan look. “Gimme those before you break something.”

Relinquishing the popcorn, Marinette sped across her room, eyes trailing on her computer monitor where the Fashion Awards red carpet had been playing for the past thirty minutes. Her heart pounded in her throat, impatience bleeding through her, as she watched the hosts pick apart different celebrity’s outfits.

“Where is he?” she whispered, like she was looking for some kind of rare, easily spooked, bird.

Alya settled next to her and shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “He jus’ gotoutta the car,” she said, between chewing.

“I can’t believe I missed it!” Marinette groaned, yanking her pigtails. “Did they like it? What did they say?” She spun and grabbed Alya by the shoulders, giving her a shake, some popcorn spraying out of Alya’s hand. “Tell me everything!”

“He’s up for _International Model of the Year_. Relax. They’ll show him again,” Alya said, and just like that, as if they had heard her, the coverage switched to Adrien standing before hundreds of cameras in the tuxedo she made.

“Adrien Agreste, ladies and gentleman. Man, and model, of the hour. Easily the most anticipated guest tonight,” the host narrated as Adrien paused for the cameras.

Marinette pointed and screamed.

Adrien’s tuxedo popped against the wall of white roses behind him. The perfectly symmetrical black lapels were wrinkleless and the constant barrage of flashes made the jacket look like an aurora borealis in fast forward. The fabric she had painstakingly woven was doing everything she had hoped it would do and more. It didn’t hurt that her supermodel friend knew how catch the most flattering angles.

Now it was Alya turn to shake her, screaming, “You did that, Mari! Look! Look at what you’ve done! Everyone around the world is wet right now.”

On her screen, the co-host was sighing, “Always so effortless. And what an unexpected outfit.”

“It’s a big night for him. Do we know who made that tuxedo?” the co-host asked.

“My best friend, that’s who.” Alya interjected, tossing a kernel at the screen.

“It’s not a _Gabriel_. Tonight is all about Adrien Agreste stepping out from his father’s shadow.”

Marinette finished screaming and moved onto soaking up Adrien, who was busy looking dizzyingly magnetic.

Months ago, when Adrien had asked her to make him a suit, she had thought he’d been joking. Then she realized he truly believed in her, as a designer, and wanted to give a friend an opportunity. It was an unbearably Adrien thing to do. The kind of thing that only made her fall harder. With each fitting Marinette had grown to know him more. She would even go as far as to say they were good friends, even though he gave her butterflies all the same.

His chin was raised, expression serious. Then, he broke into a shy smile, which nearly broke her. “How does he do that?” she breathed, pissed off. “How is he so unattainable and down-to-earth all at once? Even if I didn’t know him I’d want to be his best friend.”

Alya snorted. In a tone that she often used when humoring Marinette’s smitten rants, she said, “He’s aesthetically pleasing, sure. Though too sweet for my taste.”

Sweet. Perfect. Smart. Thoughtful. Perfect. Considerate. Perfect— Something moved outside her window. Marinette whipped her head around. The lights of Paris blinked innocently back at her. Unsettled, Marinette was about to drag her eyes away, when a shadow darted across her neighbor’s dark shingled roof. A heavy wet blanket cloaked her, turning to lead in her stomach. Her instincts screamed something was up.

Alya was grabbing her arm. “Here we go!”

Marinette tried to focus back on her screen where Adrien was being interviewed. He was laughing politely at whatever his interviewer had said. Normally his peachy lips and sea-twinkle eyes would have whisked her, but her mind was stuck, racing. The shadow was probably just a cat. It wasn’t uncommon for strays to hop between her balcony and her neighbor’s roof. Too often her flower beds were destroyed. But, something about that thing had smelled… _evil_.

“We are all dying to know who made this jacket,” the reporter was giggling. She pointed. “May I?” Adrien held out his sleeve for her to run her fingers across.

Marinette glanced out the window again, torn. What had that been?

“…wearing Marinette Dupain-Cheng. One of my favorite young designers.”

At the sound of her name tumbling from Adrien’s lips, Marinette refocused. Her phone buzzed to life, vibrating across her desk.

Alya scrambled and snatched her phone. “Fourteen— no twenty seven— no thirty new followers and counting!” She glanced up, grin feral.

“There you have it. A Marinette Dupain-Cheng original. A new designer with a fresh perspective,” the reporter said into the camera, before her eyes narrowed and swiveled back to Adrien. “Possibly a friend? Possibly something more?” The microphone hovered two inches from Adrien’s lips.

Marinette forgot all about that shadow. She forgot everything. She even forgot how how to breath.

For the first time Adrien grew flustered, which (damn him), was adorable. He gave a breathy laugh, eyes darting to his shoes as he busied himself with his cufflink. She knew him well enough by now to know he was stalling, thinking. His eyes finally darted up. “She’s special,” he admitted, before his bodyguard tapped him on the shoulder and pulled him away.

“Oh. Em. Gee. Mari.” Alya dropped her arms her sides with a smack. “I think Adrien Agreste _likes_ you.”

Marinette did her best representation of a teapot as a high-pitch giggle, resembling more of a keen, blew out of her. “He didn’t mean— He was probably just— I doubt it—” she barked a laugh, waving her arms. “You know how it is being famous and all!”

“You heard him. You’re _special_ ,” Alya whispered, eyes huge and sparkly behind her thick glasses, spreading her fingertips out as if the word held magical powers.

Adrien Agreste thought she was special. Marinette reached down and threaded her fingers deep into her rug to keep from floating away. A dizzy grin melted like butter across her face. She was a balloon. Drifting, high…

A red blur streaked from underneath her bed to her bathroom. Like someone poking her with a needle, Marinette immediately fizzled back down to earth. “Bathroom,” she gasped, not waiting to hear Alya’s response before swinging the door shut and locking it.

Tikki darted out from behind her polka dot shower curtain. She landed onto a fluffy white towel, wringing her antennae. “I’m sorry, Marinette. You know I wouldn’t normally interrupt but… there’s something… off. Can you feel it?”

“That shadow… was it an akuma?”

Tikki shivered deep into the towel. “I don’t know. But whatever it was… it didn’t feel friendly. We should check it out just to be safe.”

A knock rapped from behind her. “Mari? You okay?” Alya called.

Ducking, as if Alya could see her, Marinette hissed, “Now? It’s too suspicious. How about after the award ceremony? After Alya leaves?”

“Now,” Tikki insisted.

Marinette sucked in a breath and nodded. Tikki hid back behind the shower curtain as Marinette opened the bathroom door, only to find Alya’s hand raised, mid-knock.

Alya recovered first. “You’re really pale.”

“I’m not feeling well,” Marinette blurted, immediately wincing at the unconvincing lie. “It’s just… This is all so overwhelming.”

Hesitating, Alya glanced back towards the awards ceremony still playing on the monitor. Her phone was buzzed every few seconds on her nightstand. “It’s a lot of attention, but isn’t it what you’ve always wanted?”

“That’s exactly why I’m overwhelmed. I just… Can you turn that off?”

Alya grabbed her phone and muted it, eyes wide in concern.

Marinette sighed. “I’m sorry, Alya. I just— I think I’d rather be alone right now.”

Like she was waiting for punchline, Alya froze for several long beats before her expression changed, dropped. “What? But— Why?”

Ow. Marinette tried to ignore the guilt at hurting her best friend, but it stung like a fresh rug burn. Tikki restlessly moved behind her shower curtain. Marinette crossed the room and grabbed Alya by the arm, leading her towards her trap door. “I’m feeling really sick.”

“Okay…is there anything I can do?” Alya said slowly, eyebrows raising as she took a few steps down the ladder.

Marinette shut her trapdoor and ran for her balcony.

Tikki zipped past her head. “Not your best lie. Alya won’t leave that easily,” she warned.

“Too late,” Marinette said, gravely. “Tikki, spots on!”

Marinette leap off the balcony before Tikki’s magic crashed over her. Kwami magic swathed her outstretched arm in red. She tossed her yo-yo out, hooking it on the flagpole across the street, arcing towards where that shadow had gone.

 

.

 

 

_Special?_

Adrien internally face-palmed. Why had he said that? He could have said a million other things, but no, he had to say she’s special. Which, while of course Marinette _was_ special to him, the media would now assume Marinette was his girlfriend. They would bother her and it was all his fault. Despite the guilt, a tiny inappropriate part of him, one only ever went dumb around Ladybug, flopped over and sighed contently. Or maybe that was just Plagg, who was still fast asleep, pressed against his left ribs.

Adrien managed to get through the red carpet without any other mess ups. He relaxed only after ducking past the last of the reporters and stepping into the main hall of the _Palais Garnier_ , an opera house erected in 1835. Tonight it was host to the 20th Annual Fashion Awards. The hall was enormous— over three stories tall, with ancient red curtains hung from the very top of the ceiling to hover an inch from the marble floor. The hall was interrupted by a wide grand staircase which broke, like a Y, into two staircases. Each joined on either side of the second story balcony. On the ceiling faded Renaissance paintings peered down, their dramatic long fingers draped across bare breasts, grapes, and wine.

“I see you finally got out of that car,” a deep voice hummed to his right. “I was about to launch a rescue mission.”

Adrien tore his gaze off the ceiling. “Father,” he greeted, knowing no one else whose jokes were all half jabs.

Gabriel’s sharp eyes scanned the entire room, bouncing from face to face. That, along with his slicked back white hair, made him resemble a hawk. His inky black suit was impeccably tailored. Classic lines. His own design. He wound his arms behind his back and leaned close until his lips were an inch from Adrien’s ear. Softly, as if confiding a secret, he said, “Tonight you will make me the proudest I have ever been.”

A lump burned his throat, but he swallowed it. Was it pathetic that Adrien knew exactly how many times his father had said he was proud of him? Twice. Now, and three years ago. After his mother’s funeral. At the time he had been too deep in shock for the death to register, too lost to cry. The funeral felt like a dream even to him now. But he remembered, clearly, the weight of his father’s hands pressed atop his shoulders as he praised him for, as only his father would have phrased it, ‘not making a spectacle.

“You act as if I’ve already won,” Adrien remarked cooly.

His father made a little noise in the back of his throat. It was the same, dismissive, derisive scoff that all Gabriel designers dreaded. “Your competition, Brietta Lim, is a girl who’s androgynous gimmick is stale. I heard she was difficult at Yolanda’s fitting.”

“You’re horrible,” Adrien muttered, although he couldn’t help but feel better about the whole situation.

“Who designed this tuxedo?” Gabriel asked.

It was a dangerous question. Adrien eyed his father, but couldn’t read him. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She’s the design student that—”

“Won my hat competition a year and a half ago, yes, I remember her,” Gabriel finished impatiently. He turned and truly looked at Adrien from top to bottom. “The fabric is skillfully woven. I should have hired her.”

“Really?” Adrien beamed, then reigned it back in with a cough.

“Champagne?” A waitress interrupted, offered a flute. Gabriel spun on his heel and stalked away without a word. The woman was left looking frazzled and completely done with eccentric designers.

Adrien sighed. “I’ll take it,” he said, more as an apology for his father’s abrupt leave, and less because he wanted it. He grabbed the stem. Figuring a little champagne might settle his nerves, he threw back the glass in one gulp. It tasted kinda funny, but Adrien supposed all alcohol tasted kinda funny. Above, the lights dimmed, signaling it was time to sit down. Right when the lights returned to full brightness Adrien saw a shape through the glass foot of his flute, drawing his attention up to the balcony. He swore for a second he saw a shadow scuttle across the wall, but upon second glance it was gone.

 

.

 

 

The shadow had gotten enough of a head start. Ladybug almost gave up after racing more than ten blocks without finding it. But, just when she was about to head home, she saw it eclipsing around a chimney and took chase.

It was humanoid, resembling a person completely covered head to toe in a black scuba suit. Fast, too. Spidery fast. It gave her the creeps. It was taking all of her attention to keep it within eyeshot, all while hopping across rooftops, chimneys, and skylights.

The shape made no noise as it ran across a steep tiled roof.

Ladybug landed right behind it. Grabbing out, her hand was just an inch away from the thing’s shoulder when it jumped off the edge of the roof. Ladybug’s heart panged in her chest, before she skidded to a stop and the edge, looked down, and saw scaffolding.

This was around the time Ladybug normally alerted Chat Noir. They had made a promise to always call the other if something was even remotely suspicious. This definitely qualified, but there was no time. Even the split second she had spent debating had allowed that thing to slip beyond her line of sight.

Ladybug pitched her yoyo out, wrapping it around a street lamp, swinging out, away from the building. She caught the flickering movement of the shadow running along the eave of the next building over and swung her legs up to direct her momentum towards it. Ladybug lightly landed on the tiles and didn’t skip a beat, running towards where she had last seen the shadow.

As she sprinted up and over the green domed eave, Ladybug got her first view of a golden angel bowed over the corner of the roof. It’s enormous gilded wings were twice as tall as she was. Thinking it an odd adornment for a building, she peered down at the boulevard below and froze. A long line of limousines stretched down the block. Cameras flashed like sparklers, illuminating a long, crowded, red carpet. She was at The Fashion Awards.

Ants marched beneath her suit. Paranoia hit her, strong and panicky, making her mouth dry and metallic tasting. Why had this thing fled here, of all places? It's behavior was weird and unlike any akuma she had ever fought before. It made her nervous. How was she going to find it without unintentionally crashing a very fancy, very televised, celebrity party? All of her idols were in there. What if it hurt them? What if it hurt _Adrien_?

In the moonlight the dark spot looked almost blue as it slipped through a curved door leading into the domed ceiling of the _Palais Garnier._

Ladybug cursed under her breath. Then, she followed.


End file.
